The air in the factory office was stale and thick with the ghost of a thousand workdays, a smell of oil, metal, and cheap coffee that clung to the cheap paneling. I sat hunched over the humming computer, the screen’s blue-white light washing out the reflection in my darkened monitor. My name is Betty, and at T&A Pistons, head office, I’m efficient, decisive, and untouchable. Here, in this grime-coated satellite of the kingdom I helped rule, I felt like a visiting princess in a den of trolls.
My white sleeveless top, cut just low enough to be distracting, felt like a suit of armor, and the black pencil skirt hugged my hips like a second skin. I could feel the delicate lace of my bra and panties against my skin, a secret reminder of the woman I was, a woman these grunting, grease-stained men could only dream about. They were trash, all of them, and I’d just swept twelve of them out the door with a few clicks of a mouse and a rehearsed speech about “restructuring.” I hoped they were drowning their sorrows in cheap beer, their small severance checks burning a hole in their pockets. I just wanted to finish this paperwork, get to my car, and wash the stink of this place off me for good.
Down at “The Rusty Wrench,” the beer was flat and the resentment was sharp.
Frank, a mechanic whose face was a roadmap of a life spent with wrenches and engines, slammed his empty glass on the sticky table. “Twelve years,” he growled, his voice like gravel. “Twelve years I’ve kept that line running, and for what? A kick in the ass and a check that wouldn’t cover a month’s rent.”
Joe, the welder, younger and with a fire in his eyes that ambition had now turned to pure fury, nodded. “She didn’t even look at us. Just looked at her papers, smiling like she was doing us a favor. Did you see the way she was dressed? Like she was going to a fucking cocktail party, not a firing squad.”
Tyrone, who operated the forklift with a quiet, focused intensity, just stared into his glass, his jaw tight. He’d worked harder than anyone, saved every penny, and for what? To be dismissed by some stuck-up bitch in a skirt who thought he was dirt.
When they stumbled out into the humid night, Frank stopped dead, pointing a thick finger across the street. “Well, well, well. Look at that.” There, under a flickering parking lot lamp, sat Betty’s sedan, gleaming like a polished jewel in a pile of coal.
A slow, predatory smile spread across Joe’s face. “Still working late? Processing our misery?”
Tyrone’s eyes narrowed. The message was unspoken but passed between them like an electric current. It was time for Miss Head Office to get a real lesson in company loyalty.
The heavy steel door to the office block groaned open, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the sudden silence. I jumped, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Hello?” I called out, my voice thin and reedy. “Is someone there?”
The door slammed shut, the finality of the sound making my blood run cold. Three figures filled the doorway, silhouetted against the dim light of the factory floor beyond. They stepped inside, and my stomach dropped. It was them. Frank, the old mechanic, his eyes glinting with a terrifying calm. Joe, the welder, his handsome face twisted into a mask of pure hatred. And Tyrone, his expression unreadable, but radiating a cold, hard anger that was somehow worse.
“You’re still here,” Frank stated, his voice low and dangerous. “Working hard, I see.”
I stood up, my chair scraping the floor, my professional demeanor crumbling. “Gentlemen, the factory is closed. You need to leave.”
Joe laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “Oh, we’re not leaving, *Betty*. We just came back to get our severance package. The one you forgot to mention.” He took a step closer, his eyes roaming over my body, making my skin crawl. “You like dressing up for us, huh? Think we’re a bunch of dumb animals you can tease?”
Tyrone moved to block the door, his large frame sealing my fate. This wasn’t a negotiation. This was a sentencing.
“Please,” I whispered, the word catching in my throat. “Don’t.”
Frank just smiled, a chilling, soulless grin. “You taught us a lesson about how little we mean to this company,” he said, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Now, we’re going to teach you a lesson about what happens when you fuck with people’s lives.”
Before I could even draw a breath to scream, a blur of motion filled my vision. Joe and Tyrone were on me in an instant, a coordinated storm of muscle and rage. A hand, Tyrone’s I think, clamped over my mouth, smothering my cry as another pair of strong arms grabbed me from the side.
“Get her!” Joe grunted, his voice thick with exertion.
They were impossibly strong, my struggles feeling like the pathetic flailing of a child. I was lifted off my feet for a second before being slammed forward, the impact knocking the wind from my lungs as my chest and stomach hit the hard, cold surface of the desk. My cheek smacked against the wood, and I could taste blood in my mouth from where I’d bitten my tongue.
Panic, pure and primal, surged through me. I kicked my legs back, trying to connect with something, anything, but my heels just glanced uselessly off their solid frames. My wrists were seized and twisted behind my back, pinned there by an unyielding grip while a heavy forearm pressed down between my shoulder blades, grinding me into the desk. I was completely immobilized, a butterfly pinned to a board.
Through the haze of terror, I heard Frank’s voice, slow and deliberate, right behind me. “Now, now, Betty. Let’s not be difficult.”
I felt a rough hand on the back of my thigh, and I flinched violently. He gripped the hem of my black pencil skirt and began to pull, the fabric sliding up my legs with agonizing slowness. I squeezed my eyes shut, hot tears of shame and fear leaking from the corners and staining the dusty wood.
The cool air of the office hit the bare skin of my thighs as the skirt was bunched up, up, up, until it was a useless strip of black fabric wedged into the small of my back, leaving me exposed from the waist down.
“Please, don’t do this,” I sobbed, the words muffled by the hand still pressed against my face, though it had loosened enough for me to speak.
My pleas were met with a low, cruel chuckle from Frank. “Oh, we’re not going to hurt you… much.”
I felt his fingers hook into the delicate lace waistband of my panties. My entire body went rigid with renewed horror.
“No! No, stop!” I screamed, thrashing with every ounce of strength I had left. My legs kicked wildly, my heels drumming against the desk legs in a frantic, useless rhythm. But they held me fast.
With a single, brutal tug, Frank ripped the black lace from my hips. The sharp sting of the elastic snapping against my skin was nothing compared to the wave of violation that washed over me. I was naked, utterly exposed and helpless, their laughter the only sound in the room besides my own choked, desperate sobs.
“Well, look at that,” Frank’s voice was a low, appreciative rumble that vibrated through the desk and into my bones. “Bent over and waiting for us. All dressed up in your fancy stockings.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, a fresh wave of nausea and terror washing over me. “What’s the matter, Betty? Not so high and mighty now, are you?”
I could feel his gaze on my most intimate place, exposed and vulnerable. My body trembled uncontrollably, a mixture of cold fear and a desperate, futile surge of defiance. I tried to buck my hips, to squirm away, but Joe and Tyrone’s grip was like iron.
“Hold her still,” Frank commanded, and the pressure on my back and shoulders increased, pinning me even more painfully against the hard wood.
My struggle was frantic, a series of useless jerks and twists. “Stop it! Get off me!” I shrieked, my voice raw.
Joe just grunted, his breath hot against my ear. “Shut up, bitch.”
Then I heard it. The unmistakable sound of a belt buckle jingling, followed by the low rasp of a zipper being pulled down. My blood turned to ice. Every muscle in my body tensed in anticipation of the inevitable.
“This is what happens when you fuck with real men, you stuck-up cunt,” Frank snarled from behind me.
I felt the blunt, hot pressure of him against my entrance. A scream tore from my throat, but it was cut short as he forced himself into me with one brutal, merciless thrust. The pain was blinding, a searing, tearing agony that ripped through me.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he grunted, starting a rhythm that was punishing and deep. “Take it. Take your fucking lesson.”
He slammed into me again and again, each thrust driving my hips into the sharp edge of the desk, his words a venomous litany in my ear. “Is this what you wanted, you little tease? To get fucked by the trash you fired?”
I couldn’t answer, I could only sob into the desk, my body a vessel for their rage and my mind a prison of horror.
Frank’s thrusts were hard and punishing, a steady rhythm of grunts and the wet, obscene slap of skin against skin that filled the small office. Each time he buried himself inside me, my hips would slam painfully into the edge of the desk, the sharp wood a constant, biting counterpoint to the searing invasion.
“Yeah, you like that, don’t you, you little whore?” he panted, his breath hot and foul against the back of my neck. “This is all you’re good for. A warm hole for the men you fired.”
I sobbed into the desk, my tears mingling with the dust, my body a canvas of pain and humiliation. Just when I thought the relentless assault would never end, he stopped. He pulled out of me with a wet, sucking sound that made me cringe, and a momentary, foolish wave of relief washed over me.
“Now, now,” Frank said, his voice a low chuckle. “Can’t have me finishing up too soon. We want to make sure this lesson really sinks in. A long, memorable lesson.”
I heard him shuffle away, and the heavy weight on my back shifted. “Tyrone, you’re up.”
The hands holding my wrists were replaced by Frank’s thick, calloused ones, his grip just as unyielding. I felt a new presence behind me, a different kind of heat. I dared to crack my eyes open and saw Joe’s sneering face to the side, still holding my shoulders. But the man behind me was a shadow of pure menace.
I heard the sound of a zipper, the rustle of jeans falling to the floor. Then, a new, even thicker pressure was against my torn, aching entrance.
“Bet you’ve never had a black dick before, have you, Miss High-and-Mighty?” Tyrone’s voice was a low, menacing growl, filled with a cold fury that was far more terrifying than Frank’s brutish lust. “Bet you look down on guys like me every day.”
Without another word, he drove himself into me. I screamed, a raw, ragged sound torn from the depths of my soul, as he stretched me painfully, his size and force a new, more violent agony. He wasn’t just fucking me; he was trying to destroy me with his cock. His thrusts were short, powerful, and angry, jackhammering into me with a furious rhythm.
“This is for my fucking mortgage!” he grunted, each word punctuated by a brutal slam. “This is for my kid’s college fund!”
He grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking my head back, the pain sharp and blinding. “You think you can just erase us? Erase this?” He rammed into me so hard I saw stars, the desk groaning under the assault. “Look at me,” he commanded, but I couldn’t, I could only squeeze my eyes shut and endure the storm. “Fucking look at me while I take what you owe me!”
He was a piston of pure rage, and I was the raw metal he was beating into shape, my body his to ruin, my mind shattering with every violation.
Tyrone’s assault was a relentless, punishing rhythm. His anger was a physical force, channeling through his body and into mine with every violent thrust. Each slam drove a grunt of effort from his chest and a choked sob from mine.
“You feel that?” he snarled, his voice a raw, guttural sound right next to my ear. “That’s the sound of your fucking career choice, you cunt. You wanted to play God with people’s lives? Well, now you’re just a piece of meat.”
He was sweating, the drops falling onto my lower back and making me shudder with disgust. He kept a brutal pace, his grip on my hips tight enough to leave bruises, his body a piston of pure rage.
“Tell me how much you love it,” he demanded, his words slurred with exertion. “Tell me how much you love getting fucked by the trash you fired!”
I couldn’t speak, could only make strangled, animalistic noises as he used my body, my face pressed so hard against the desk I thought my cheekbone might crack.
Finally, with one last, deep, punishing thrust that made me cry out, he pulled out. He staggered back, breathing heavily. “Damn,” he muttered, a note of grim satisfaction in his voice. “She’s all yours.”
Frank laughed, a rough, ugly sound. “My turn? Shit, I want another go at that.”
But Joe, who had been holding my shoulders this whole time, was practically vibrating with anticipation. “No way, man,” he said, his voice tight and high with excitement. “I’ve been waiting for this. Look at her, all bent over and ready. She’s fucking loving it.”
I could feel his eyes on me, hot and hungry, and it made my skin crawl. Frank moved to take Tyrone’s place, his heavy hands clamping down on my wrists, while Tyrone took over holding my shoulders, his grip still firm and resentful.
The moment Joe was behind me, the entire energy in the room shifted. There was a frantic, almost giddy horniness to his movements. I heard his belt buckle clatter and his zipper fly open.
“Oh, yeah, baby,” he chirped, his voice a grotesque parody of a lover’s. “Daddy’s home.”
He didn’t enter me slowly; he rammed into me, his cock hard and eager, and immediately started a frantic, jackrabbit pace. “Oh, fuck, yeah! She’s so tight! You guys loosened her up for me!”
He was like a dog humping a leg, all clumsy energy and zero finesse, his hips slapping against my ass in a fast, staccato rhythm. “Come on, Betty, work with me here! Move that ass! You know you want it!”
Frank chuckled from above me. “Give it to her good, kid. Make her earn that severance.”
Joe was grunting and panting, lost in his own fantasy. “Yeah, take it! Take it all! You’re a star, baby! A fucking porno star!” He slapped my ass, a sharp, stinging crack that made me yelp. “That’s what I’m talking about! Look at that ass bounce!”
He was treating me like an object, a prop in his personal, sick fantasy, his rapid, shallow fucking a different kind of violation. A demeaning, dehumanizing performance that was just as horrifying as Tyrone’s rage-fueled assault.
Joe’s pace didn’t let up; it was a frantic, desperate rhythm, the sound of his body slamming into mine a relentless, wet percussion that filled the office. He wasn’t just fucking me; he was performing, putting on a show for the other two men, and his excitement was a nauseating, palpable thing.
“Oh, god, yeah,” he panted, his voice a high-pitched whine of pure lust. “Look at you, taking it like a champ. I knew you’d be a good lay. All you corporate bitches are, deep down. You just need a real man to remind you of your place.”
He grabbed my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pulled me back to meet his frantic thrusts, trying to force my body to participate in its own violation. “You like that, huh? You like being the center of attention?” he grunted, punctuating his words with a particularly hard shove that made the desk scrape against the floor. “Bet you never got fucked like this in your fancy head office, did you? On your knees on some dirty factory floor, just like the trash you think we are.”
His words were a constant, degrading stream, each one a new little cut. He leaned forward, his sweaty chest pressing against my back, his hot breath in my ear. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow. Every time you sit down at your desk, you’re gonna feel me, you’re gonna remember this.”
Frank laughed, a deep, rumbling sound of approval. “That’s it, Joe, make her remember. Teach the little princess what a real pounding feels like.”
Tyrone remained silent, but I could feel the tension in his hands on my shoulders, a silent, heavy judgment that was almost as terrifying as Joe’s depraved chatter.
Joe, spurred on by Frank’s encouragement, became even more animated. “Oh, I’m gonna make you remember, alright,” he chirped, his voice cracking with excitement. He reached around and grabbed my breast, squeezing it hard through the fabric of my top and bra. “Gotta get a handful of these titties! Fucking perfect!” He kneaded it roughly, his other hand still holding my hip in a bruising grip. “Yeah, you’re gonna be my little office slut now. Maybe I’ll come visit you at head office. We can do this on your big, fancy desk.”
He was lost in a sick fantasy, his rapid thrusts becoming more erratic, more selfish. “I’m gonna come all over that pretty skirt of yours,” he grunted, his voice strained. “Mark you as my territory. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you filthy whore? You want me to paint you with my cum?”
He was talking to himself as much as to me, his words a disgusting, running commentary as he used my body, reducing me to nothing more than a prop in his sordid, one-man show.
Joe’s frantic thrusting was reaching a fever pitch, his grunts growing more high-pitched and desperate. “Fuck, yeah, I’m gonna… I’m gonna…” he started to pant, but his words were cut off by a calm, authoritative voice from above.
“Hold on there, son,” Frank said, his tone like that of a foreman stopping a faulty machine. “We’re thinking about efficiency all wrong here.”
Joe froze, buried deep inside me, confused. “What?” he whined.
Frank chuckled. “She’s got more than one hole, boy. No sense in letting the other two go to waste while we wait our turn.”
A cold dread, deeper and more profound than anything I had felt yet, washed over me. This wasn’t just about one man at a time anymore.
“Alright, let’s get her up,” Frank commanded.
In a single, coordinated movement, the assault stopped. Joe pulled out with a wet gasp, and the hands holding me down shifted. They lifted me bodily off the desk, my legs weak and trembling, barely able to support me. Tyrone moved behind me, his powerful hands grabbing my upper arms and holding them fast behind my back, forcing my chest forward. I was on display, a captive spectacle for them to admire.
Frank stepped directly in front of me, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes, cold and appraising, roamed over my disheveled form. “Let’s get a better look at the merchandise,” he said.
His thick, calloused fingers went to the top button of my white sleeveless blouse. He didn’t rip it. Instead, he took his time, working each button free with a deliberate, agonizing slowness. The fabric parted slowly, revealing the delicate black lace of my bra. With every button he undid, another inch of my flesh was exposed to their hungry eyes. The air felt cold on my skin, and I wanted to shrink away, to disappear, but Tyrone’s grip was unyielding.
When the last button was undone, Frank pulled the blouse open, letting it hang uselessly from my shoulders. His gaze dropped to my chest. “Very nice,” he murmured. He reached out, his fingers tracing the edge of the lace cup before finding the clasp between my breasts. With a practiced flick, it was open. He pulled the cups away, and my breasts spilled out, bare and vulnerable.
The shame was a physical weight, crushing me. I was completely exposed from the waist up, my breasts with their pink nipples on display, while my skirt was still bunched around my waist, my vagina still glistening and visible. I felt like a piece of livestock at an auction, being inspected.
“Damn,” Frank breathed, his eyes wide. “Look at those perfect titties.”
Joe, who had been watching with rapt attention, stepped forward. “Let me see,” he said, his voice thick with renewed lust. He didn’t wait for an invitation.
Both of them were on me then. Their hands were everywhere, rough and demanding. Frank cupped my right breast, his thumb roughly brushing over my nipple, making it harden against my will. “Firm, too. Not bad for an office princess.”
Joe squeezed my left breast, his grip almost painful. “They fit perfectly in my hand,” he said, his voice filled with a grotesque wonder.
They mauled me, their hands kneading, squeezing, and pinching, their coarse comments about my body a constant, humiliating drone. I squeezed my eyes shut, tears of pure shame streaming down my cheeks, unable to do anything but stand there and be touched, their property to do with as they pleased.
“Alright, that’s enough of a standing ovation,” Frank grunted, giving my breast one last rough squeeze before letting go. “Get her on the floor.”
Tyrone’s grip on my arms tightened, and with a powerful, unceremonious shove, he forced me down. My knees hit the thin, industrial carpet with a painful thud, and I pitched forward, catching myself with my hands to avoid smashing my face into the floor. I was on all fours, my blouse hanging open, my skirt still bunched around my waist, my breasts swaying beneath me. The position was one of utter submission, and a fresh wave of humiliation burned my cheeks.
Joe was instantly there, grabbing a thick fistful of my hair and yanking my head back, forcing me to look up.
“Hold her right there,” Frank said, his voice thick with authority.
Frank moved in front of me, slowly lowering himself to his knees, looking down at me. His cock, thick and heavy and already glistening with my own wetness, was right in front of my eyes. It was an angry, purplish-red, with thick veins snaking up its length, and the smell of him. A musky, sweaty, masculine scent mixed with the faint coppery tang of my own violation filled my nostrils.
“Open up, Betty,” Frank said, his voice deceptively calm. “Time to put that pretty mouth of yours to work.”
I stared at him, my eyes wide with a mixture of terror and defiance. “No,” I choked out, the word a ragged whisper. “Never. I won’t.”
Frank’s face hardened. “I said, open your fucking mouth.”
I clenched my jaw shut, shaking my head as much as Joe’s grip on my hair would allow.
The slap was sharp and loud, echoing in the small office. My head snapped to the side, my cheek stinging and my ear ringing. “I said *open*,” he repeated, his voice now a low growl.
I could taste blood in my mouth again, but I just glared at him, my lips pressed into a tight, stubborn line.
“Fine,” he snarled. His hands shot out and grabbed my bare breasts, his fingers digging into the soft flesh like talons. He wasn’t just squeezing; he was twisting, mauling them, crushing them in his grip. A scream of pure agony was torn from my throat as a white-hot pain shot through my chest.
“Still won’t open?” he grunted, twisting harder. The pain was blinding, a nauseating torment that made my vision swim. He let go, and I gasped for air, my breasts throbbing with a deep, bruised ache.
He stood up, and a new kind of terror seized me. He looked down at me, contempt in his eyes. “Stubborn bitch.”
He drew back his leg and kicked me, hard, right in the stomach. The air was driven from my lungs in a whoosh, and I collapsed onto my side, my arms wrapping around my midsection as I retched, the pain a sickening, all-consuming cramp.
“Get up,” he commanded. When I didn’t move fast enough, he kicked me again, the toe of his boot connecting with my ribs. I cried out, a pathetic, wheezing sound. “Get the fuck up!” he roared.
Joe and Tyrone yanked me back onto my hands and knees. Frank knelt in front of me again. “Last chance,” he said, his voice cold and final.
The pain was overwhelming, a throbbing agony in my chest and stomach. I knew I couldn’t take any more. Defeated, broken, I looked up at him and whispered, “I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”
A triumphant smirk spread across Frank’s face. “That’s what I thought.”
He grabbed my chin, his thumb digging into my jaw, and forced my mouth open. He leaned forward, and I closed my eyes as the head of his cock pushed past my lips. It was hot and hard, the skin smooth yet taut, and the taste of him was salty and musky, overwhelmingly masculine and vile.
He slid it deeper, filling my mouth, the weight of it on my tongue a suffocating presence. “That’s it,” he groaned. “Get it nice and wet.”
I tried to keep my teeth away, to do what he wanted to avoid more pain, my tongue moving awkwardly against the underside of his shaft. After a few moments of my hesitant, reluctant movements, he grew impatient.
“Not good enough,” he grunted. He placed both of his strong hands on the sides of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair. “Time for a real lesson.”
He held my head in a vice-like grip and started to fuck my mouth. His hips began to pump, driving his cock deeper and deeper with each thrust. The first time the head hit the back of my throat, I gagged violently, my body convulsing.
“Yeah, choke on it,” he grunted, pulling back slightly before ramming it in again. My eyes watered uncontrollably, tears and mascara streaming down my face as I coughed and sputtered around his thick shaft. He was using my mouth like a cunt, a wet, warm hole for his pleasure, his thrusts becoming faster and more forceful. I couldn’t breathe, could only take it, my drool mixing with the pre-cum leaking from his tip and dripping down my chin.
“Look at me,” he demanded, but I couldn’t, my vision blurred by tears as my body was wracked with one gag reflex after another. The sounds were obscene. The wet, slurping noises, his guttural grunts, my choked-off sobs and desperate gasps for air whenever he pulled back just enough to let me breathe. He was raping my throat, and I was powerless to do anything but endure it.
While Frank was brutally using my mouth, Joe was practically vibrating with a desperate, impatient energy. I could hear him shuffling behind me, his breathing ragged.
“Fuck this, I can’t wait,” he whined, his voice tight with need. “I’m gonna blow my load just watching.”
Frank, without breaking his rhythm in my throat, grunted, “Then get in there, kid. Don’t let the machinery go idle.”
That was all the encouragement Joe needed. I felt him kneel behind me, his hands grabbing my hips with a possessive, almost frantic grip. “Hold on, baby, here I come!” he chirped, and in one hard, fast thrust, he buried his cock inside me again.
The sensation was overwhelming. I was now being filled from both ends, a trapped, impaled vessel for their lust. Frank’s thick, heavy cock was a choking, suffocating presence in my mouth, while Joe’s hard, eager shaft was a relentless, pounding force from behind.
The room filled with a cacophony of depraved sounds: the wet, gagging slurps from Frank fucking my face, the sharp, rhythmic slap of Joe’s hips against my ass, their grunts and groans of pleasure, and my own muffled, choked-off sobs. I was being rocked back and forth between them, a human pendulum of violation.
My body rebelled. A primal, desperate instinct to escape took over, and I tried to scramble away, to pull my mouth off Frank and crawl out from under Joe. It was a useless, pathetic gesture.
Frank’s hands clamped down on my head like a vise, holding me in place. “Oh no you don’t,” he snarled, his voice a low growl. “You’re not going anywhere.”
At the same time, Joe’s grip on my hips tightened painfully, his fingers digging into my flesh as he yanked me back onto his cock. “Yeah, try to run,” he laughed, his breath coming in harsh pants. “I love it when they fight! It just makes it better!”
I was completely pinned, utterly helpless, a prisoner between two strong, relentless bodies. The humiliation was a suffocating blanket, even thicker than the physical assault. These were men I wouldn’t have spit on if they were on fire. Greasy, uneducated, blue-collar trash who I had fired without a second thought. And now, they were inside me. Their cocks, the most intimate, invasive parts of them, were using my body, claiming it, defiling it.
I could feel every detail of them: the thick, pulsing veins on Frank’s shaft as it slid over my tongue, the spongy head hitting the back of my throat; Joe’s thinner but relentlessly hard cock pistoning into my bruised, aching pussy, stretching me with each violent thrust. I hated them. I hated their smell, their touch, their voices. But most of all, I hated the helpless, traitorous way my body responded, the way it was forced to accommodate them, the way it was being used to give them pleasure.
I was nothing to them but a collection of holes, a warm body to satiate their rage and lust, and the sheer totality of my powerlessness was a crushing weight that threatened to shatter my mind completely.
“Look at her, taking it from both ends,” Frank grunted, looking down at me with a look of pure ownership. “This is where you belong, Betty. On the floor, servicing real men.”
Joe was too lost in his own frantic rhythm to say much, his words a series of broken, guttural grunts. “Fuck… yeah… so fucking tight… gonna… gonna come…”
His thrusts became erratic, faster, more desperate, his hips slapping against me with a bruising force. I was just a thing, a toy being used by two animals, and the sounds of their pleasure, mixed with the sounds of my own suffering, was the soundtrack to my complete and utter degradation.
Joe’s frantic rhythm became a blur of motion, his hips a piston driving into me with mindless, single-minded purpose. His grunts were high-pitched and continuous, a sound of pure, unadulterated need.
“Oh, fuck, yeah! Take it! Take it all, you fucking whore!” he screamed, his voice cracking with the intensity of his impending release. He was like an animal, all instinct and no control, and I could feel his cock swelling inside me, getting even harder as he approached his climax.
“I’m gonna fill you up! I’m gonna fucking fuck you, you corporate cunt!”
The degradation was a constant, venomous spray, each word more filthy than the last. A wave of pure, desperate rebellion surged through me. I couldn’t take this, I couldn’t let him finish inside me. With a strength born of pure terror, I tried to push him away. I flattened my palms on the floor and tried to buck my hips, to squirm out from under him.
It was completely useless. Frank’s hands held my head in an iron grip, and Joe just laughed, a harsh, cruel sound as he felt my pathetic struggles.
“Oh, she’s trying to get away!” he grunted, his grip on my hips tightening until I was sure he’d break the bone. “Fight all you want, bitch! It’s just gonna make me come harder!”
He slammed into me one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and then he let out a loud, guttural roar. His orgasm was violent and explosive. I felt his cock pulse deep inside me, a powerful, rhythmic throbbing as he pumped his hot, thick seed into my body.
“FUCK! YES! TAKE IT! TAKE MY FUCKING CUM!” he bellowed, his voice echoing in the small office. It seemed to go on forever, spurt after spurt of his come filling me, a deep, invasive warmth that spread through my core and made me want to vomit.
His whole body went rigid, and then he collapsed onto my back, his weight heavy and suffocating, his chest heaving against me as he gasped for air. I was frozen, a statue of shame and horror, feeling the evidence of his violation settling deep inside me.
After a long moment, he pushed himself up and slowly pulled out. The feeling was indescribably vile, a wet, sloppy emptiness as his softening cock left my body. And then, I felt it. A thick, warm trickle of his come leaked out of my abused pussy and started to run slowly down the inside of my thigh. The sensation was a final, ultimate humiliation, a physical mark of their ownership that I couldn’t wipe away.
Joe stood up, pulling his pants up with a satisfied sigh. He looked down at me, at the glistening trail of his own fluids on my leg, and a wide, triumphant smirk spread across his face. “Well, look at that,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Guess we know your new job title around here. You’re the company come dumpster.”
Frank pulled his hard, slick cock from my mouth, leaving me gasping for air, my throat raw and aching. “Alright, Tyrone,” Frank said, his voice calm and commanding, as if he were merely rotating a shift. “Your turn at the head. I’m ready to sample the merchandise myself.”
I heard Tyrone move around, his heavy footsteps purposeful. His hands, rough and strong, tangled in my hair, yanking my head up and back with a painful grip that made me wince. I was staring at the grimy industrial carpet, but I could feel his presence in front of me, sense the heat radiating from his body. I knew what was coming next, and a cold dread coiled in my stomach.
Meanwhile, Frank moved behind me. I felt his heavy, calloused hand run possessively over the curve of my ass, a slow, exploratory touch that made my skin crawl. “Now that is a fine sight,” he commented, his voice a low rumble of appreciation. “Nice round ass, framed by these fancy stockings.” His fingers traced the lacy top of my stocking, making me flinch.
“And look at this,” he continued, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction as he noticed the sticky trail leaking from me. “Already used and leaking. Joe, you messy bastard.”
He positioned himself behind me, and I felt the blunt, hot head of his cock, still hard and demanding, press against my swollen, sensitive entrance. He didn’t ram into me. Instead, he slid in slowly, deliberately, a single, long, invasive stroke that filled me completely, stretching me around his considerable girth. I couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped my lips.
“Oh, yeah,” he groaned, his voice thick with pleasure. “Still tight, even after the kid had his turn. That’s good.”
He reached around and grabbed my dangling breast, his hand engulfing it, his thumb and forefinger pinching my nipple roughly. He held me like that, one hand on my tit, his cock buried deep inside me, savoring the moment of his conquest.
“You know, Betty,” he said, his voice a low, menacing whisper right next to my ear. “We’ve got all night. And there are three of us. We’re going to fuck every hole you’ve got, over and over again, until you can’t even remember your own name. You’re going to be our little toy until the sun comes up.”
He began to move, a slow, deep, grinding rhythm that was somehow more violating than Joe’s frantic fucking. “Now,” he said, his voice turning hard. “Open up for Tyrone. Let’s see if you can handle two at once again.”
I felt Tyrone’s hand tighten in my hair, a silent, painful command. He pushed his hips forward, and the head of his cock, hot and smooth, pressed against my tightly sealed lips. For a split second, a flicker of defiance ignited in me. I clamped my jaw shut, a final, pathetic act of rebellion.
But the fight was already over. I was exhausted, broken, and utterly defeated. The thought of resisting, of enduring more pain for a battle I couldn’t win, was unbearable. With a shuddering sob of resignation, I let my jaw go slack.
He slid into my mouth, his thick, dark shaft filling the space, the taste of him a salty, musky reality that I could no longer escape. It was a surreal, horrifying moment. In my entire life, in all my carefully curated, privileged existence, I had never imagined being intimate with a Black man. Not out of any real prejudice, but simply because our worlds were supposed to be separate. Now, here I was, on my hands and knees, his cock a heavy, invasive presence in my mouth, a symbol of how completely my world had been shattered and inverted.
He didn’t thrust. Instead, he used my hair like a leash, pulling my head forward and then pushing it back, forcing me to service him. “That’s it,” he grunted, his voice low and commanding. “Suck it. Use your tongue.”
I tried, my tongue moving awkwardly, timidly against the underside of his shaft. “More,” he demanded, yanking my hair harder. “Lick it. Suck the head.”
I obeyed, my movements mechanical, my mind a detached, horrified observer as my body performed the acts he demanded. It was a surreal, out-of-body experience, watching myself be debased in this way.
At the same time, Frank began to move behind me. His rhythm was a cruel, deliberate tease. He would pull almost all the way out, leaving me feeling empty and exposed for a agonizing second, and then he would slam back into me, a powerful, bone-jarring thrust that drove the air from my lungs.
“You like that, you little slut?” he grunted, his voice a venomous whisper. “You like getting fucked from both ends by the men you fired?”
Every time he slammed forward, the force of his thrust pushed me deeper onto Tyrone’s cock. The head would hit the back of my throat, triggering a violent, uncontrollable gag reflex. My body would convulse, tears streaming from my eyes, a choked cough escaping around the thick shaft filling my mouth.
The room was a symphony of my own destruction. Frank’s guttural grunts with each punishing slam, Tyrone’s low commands as he directed my mouth, and the constant, wet, gagging sounds I was making.
“She’s choking on it,” Frank laughed, his rhythm never faltering. “Good. Maybe that’ll teach you to keep your fucking mouth shut when you’re ruining people’s lives.”
The combination was unbearable. I was a puppet, my body rocked between them, a helpless conduit for their rage and lust. I wanted to fight, to scream, to claw their eyes out, but the will was gone. It had been fucked and beaten out of me. All that was left was a hollow, aching shell, being filled and used, my mind retreating into a dark, quiet corner as my body endured the endless, humiliating punishment.
The assault became a rhythmic, horrifying dance. Tyrone held my head in a grip of steel, using my hair as a handle to move my mouth up and down the length of his dark, rigid cock. I was no longer a person; I was a tool, a vessel for his pleasure. His shaft was thick and smooth, the skin hot against my tongue, and with every downward pull of his hand, the head would press deeper, threatening to breach my throat.
“That’s it, bitch, take it all,” he’d grunt, his voice a low, guttural command. “Look at you now. All that high-and-mighty shit gone, replaced by a mouthful of black dick. This is your real job.”
The words were a constant, degrading poison, seeping into the shattered remains of my self-worth. From behind, Frank’s tempo increased, his powerful strokes becoming more demanding. He wasn’t just fucking me; he was claiming me, his hands constantly roaming over my body as if he were inspecting his property. He’d squeeze the flesh of my ass hard, his fingers digging in, before letting go and reaching around to maul my dangling breasts.
“Fuck, you’ve got a hot body, Betty,” he panted, his voice thick with lust. “It’s a shame you wasted it on spreadsheets and firing people. This is what you were made for.” His words were punctuated by the sharp, wet slap of his hips against my skin.
The dual sensation was overwhelming: the invasive presence in my mouth and the relentless, deep pounding from behind. I was trapped between them, a helpless passenger in my own violation, my body rocking with the force of their combined assault. I could feel the energy in the room shift, a coiling tension that signaled their approaching release.
Frank’s thrusts became harder, more erratic, his breathing ragged. “I’m gonna fill this tight little pussy up,” he growled, his voice strained. “Gonna leave you dripping with us.”
At the same time, Tyrone’s grip on my hair tightened painfully, and he began to force my head down faster, his hips starting to thrust to meet my lips. “Get ready, slut,” he snarled. “Gonna paint this pretty throat white.”
My heart hammered against my ribs with a new wave of terror. Not again. Not both at once.
Then, it happened. With a loud, guttural roar, Frank slammed into me one last time, his body going rigid as he erupted inside me. I felt his cock pulse violently, a hot, thick flood of his come pumping deep into my bruised pussy.
“FUCK! TAKE IT!” he bellowed, his voice echoing in the small office.
At the exact same moment, Tyrone shoved my head down, burying his cock to the hilt in my throat. He let out a long, low groan as he came, his thick, hot seed shooting directly down my throat.
“Swallow it,” he commanded, his voice a harsh gasp. “Swallow every fucking drop.”
I had no choice. My body convulsed with gag reflexes, my air cut off, as his come filled my mouth and throat. I was choking, drowning in it, and I instinctively swallowed, the thick, salty fluid sliding down my esophagus in a humiliating wave.
They stayed inside me, pulsing and emptying themselves into my body, their grunts of pleasure the only sound in the room besides my own choked, desperate gasps for air.
When they finally pulled out, I collapsed onto the floor in a heap, a trembling, sobbing mess. I could feel Frank’s come leaking out of me, mixing with Joe’s, a sticky, degrading reminder of what they had done. Tyrone stood over me, looking down with cold satisfaction.
“Look at that,” he said, nudging my side with his boot. “The company come dumpster, all full up.”
Frank just laughed, zipping up his pants. “Don’t worry, Betty,” he said, his voice dripping with false cheer. “We’ll make room for more. The night’s still young.”